Rid of the Past
by patientiam
Summary: Max wakes up in the Dark Room. She does everything she can to figure out the past and prepare for the future of Arcadia Bay. (post Ep 4 - wip, more chapters to come)


Max's head throbbed as she struggled to move, to even open her eyes. The few sounds in the room startled her; though sparse and muffled, they filled her hollow ears painfully, each with a foreign cacophony, as she began to regain consciousness. She recognized a pattern of thumps that gradually increased in volume and could feel sharp vibrations in the floor accompanying them. Her head spun into memories.

A light flashing as she cried. Chloe's hand on her shoulder, the warmth of her skin. Waking up on her thirteenth birthday to breakfast in bed. A light flashing. A Thunderbirds game with her father. Watching Vertigo with Warren. A light flashing. Crying. Chloe. Blood. Rachel Amber? A light flashing.

Sounds were louder now. She could feel pain in her wrists pinned behind her back, in her ankles tucked beneath her thighs. Paralysis cocooned her like a heavy blanket. All she could do was stare at her the backs of her own closed eyelids, desperate to move, to wake up, to cry out for anyone's help. She knew where she was. The thumps she heard were Mark Jefferson's footsteps as he circled her like a predator, waiting for her to stir so he could pounce.

As she realized this, she breathed more rapidly and no longer wished to open her eyes. She did not want to see the "dark room" from the perspective of someone held captive. She recalled the photographs of Kate and now knew she was bound in a position similar to Kate's then. She thought of Chloe, of her blood on the ground, how they might never see each other again. Maybe if she didn't open her eyes just yet, Mr. Jefferson wouldn't start to take photographs of her. She needed time to think about what to do. Was she going to die here? She couldn't keep her heart from racing as quickly as her thoughts, and her chest trembled as her lips parted to accommodate her shallow breaths.

"I see you're awake, Max."

His voice made her flinch.

"Why don't you open your eyes?"

She made a conscious effort to breathe more slowly, to determine as much as possible about her location without immediately responding to him. He did not sound nearby.

"I should know better than to expect you to comply with my requests given recent… developments. Perhaps we should talk a bit more. Would that help you feel more comfortable?"

 _More comfortable? I'm tied up on the floor, and I just watched you shoot my best friend in the head…_ She tried to slow down her thoughts, knowing he was just trying to get a rise out of her. She needed all of her energy if she was going to rewind and fix all of this. His voice sounded lower to the ground than she expected, as if he were sitting down. She determined he was watching her from a seat in the room, no longer pacing around her as he was before.

"I could always count on you for your obstinacy. Look, Max, I'm sure there are many things going through your mind right now. You should know I didn't want things to wind up like this. I do apologize about your friend. I hope you understand that she was not part of the plan."

"Chloe… where is she?" She felt tears beginning to well up. Why did she blurt out her name?

"Why won't you look at me, Max?"

She couldn't resist any longer. The light bouncing off of the reflectors nearly blinded her as she slowly opened her eyes to take in the sight of the room.

 _CRACK_

"Thank you, Max. Perfect."

He had been waiting for the shot, of course. She looked down. She was still in the clothes she'd worn to the End of the World party, propped up at the far end of the room against a black backdrop. Jefferson remained seated in a couch in front of her with his camera at the ready, a weapon drawn.

"Where _is she_?" She raised her voice slightly, but her question still registered as a sob. Tears began to fall down her cheeks.

"Max, please try to control yourself. I didn't bring you here to suffer. You have so much light within you."

"Are you fucking serious?"

"Of course I am, Max. I've told you so many times, you have a gift. You know it as well. Why else would you be your own favorite subject? I only want to capture the same essence you're so fond of," he began to explain as he stood up. He put down his camera. She noticed he was wearing gloves, either of latex or vinyl, some material to conceal his fingerprints. He walked over to the desk, strewn with photos, cuttings, notes. He picked up a syringe. "I suppose I'll have to calm your nerves a bit. I know what happens when you get too worked up."

 _What is he- he knows- what does he know?_ "Please… Don't do this…"

Max struggled against Jefferson's restraints to no avail. Her wrists were bound too tightly behind her for her to gain any stability with her arms. By the time she made any substantial movement with the rest of her torso, he'd reached her with the sedative.

"You see, Max," he said as he held her chin with one hand, angling her face up towards his, "everyone else thought you were a hero for getting up to the roof to save Kate. I knew better."

Jefferson tilted her head to the side and, with his other hand, carefully injected Max's neck with a small fraction of what was in the syringe before removing it. The tension faded from her petite frame, and she lolled back toward the wall as he released her from his grasp to place the syringe down on an equipment stand. He walked back toward her, his footsteps slow, ominous, hollow.

"I knew you had something bigger going on. How else did you get up there so quickly, without anyone seeing you, straight from my classroom? You know what I'm talking about, don't you? Your ability, Max."

Paralyzed again, but fully awake, Max began to panic. He knew about her rewind power. What else did he know? She cycled through thoughts of dying at Jefferson's hand, like Chloe did. Was Chloe truly dead? Could she somehow rewind and save her, or perhaps find her in another timeline? Tears streamed down Max's face as she searched for answers within herself but felt hopeless and alone in that monochrome hell.

"The Prescotts are quite interested in what you have to offer. They have big plans for Arcadia Bay. I've been helping them reap what this town has left before its time is up. As I said, I'm sorry about your friend, but what I'm sorry for is that her time came a bit too soon. I think I'm getting ahead of myself… My point is you have potential, Max, and I don't want to see that wasted. There are too many young people wasting their potential in this town."

Jefferson turned toward the equipment stand where he placed the syringe and back toward Max. Bending down, he wiped the tears from her face with a handkerchief. He straightened her posture with both hands on her shoulders, retrieved his camera and a tripod, and returned for a close up portrait. He knelt to reach the height of Max's face.

Max looked at Jefferson in front of her, framing her for his shot. A week ago, under different circumstances, she would have dreamt of modeling for Jefferson, of learning from his techniques. In that moment, drugged, petrified, she wanted to choke up her own vomit, spit it at him, find her dead friend, rewind to revive her, and forget everything about Arcadia Bay.

Jefferson closed one eye and looked into the viewfinder of his camera to focus on Max. He pressed the shutter button.

The door of the bunker emitted three beeps. Nathan Prescott slammed it shut behind him.

"You son of a bitch! How dare you?!"


End file.
